A Wind of Whisps and Shadows
by aspentree11
Summary: Ever since the war ended, Azriel found himself being haunted by his past now more than ever. Are these fears arising simply because of his evolving feelings for a friend or are these memories an omen for something much, much worse?
1. Chapter 1

_"Help! Someone help me!" Azriel was running down a dark hallway, sprinting to catch up with the voice. The fear leaking into the wails, the screams for help. Whoever she was, whoever that poor person was, she was being tortured. He had to save her – he had to save the woman. He turned a corner abruptly and then halted. A man loomed in front of him – rich, tan skin with emerald green eyes. Azriel skidded to a stop. He knew that man…he knew him well…._

 _It had been centuries, but he still recognized him. Rhys had told him that he shattered his legs centuries ago, but here he was in front of him. Standing perfectly, shining a lethal smile. It was one of his half-brothers – Raphael. One out of the two who had tortured him with fire as a child. Someone who had made him stop, for just a moment, in utter fear. Childish fear. Behind his brother, a thick iron door was slammed shut. He was guarding it._

 _"Nice to see you again, Azzie," Raphael cooed, "Are you here to save her?"_

" _What are you doing here?" Azriel let out, pure shock filling him. Before his brother could answer, he lunged towards him, but his body was like lead. He couldn't move. He was frozen. His eyes turned to saucers as he looked up at Raphael. Rage, pure rage, erupted through his body. He let out his arms but the blue rays meaning to shoot out didn't occur. His breathing began to pace, looking down at his body. Why couldn't he move? Why couldn't he fight? He looked back up at his step-brother, who was cackling madly._

 _"What did you do to me?" Azriel meant to roar, but instead it came out a choked whisper. His half-brother shook his head, pointing at him mockingly._

 _"It's not me, Azzie, it's you. You don't care, do you? About your friends, that is. If so, you'd help them. Protect them." And his Raphael was right – his hands were shaking. The red scars that swirled around his hand was widening, moving, consuming his body. He wanted to wipe them off as if that would stop the madness, but he couldn't do it. Something, something inside him, stopped him from doing it. Just like when he was a child, when he was a helpless, little boy. The years he had imagined destroying his brother, and yet he couldn't do a single thing to him. Because you're weak, a voice in his head said, you're too weak to stop it. And then he heard it again – the screaming. The wailing in pain. He looked at his brother, tears forming in his eyes. Tears, something he hadn't had in centuries. Since he was a child._

 _"I do protect them, I protect them every-"_

 _"Why won't someone help me?" The voice cried from behind the iron door. In response, his half-brother laughed._

 _There were so many things on his lips, so many things he wanted to say and let out but instead he whispered, like a little boy, "Who is that?" Who is that, he thought again in his head. The voice….it was so familiar…_

 _"Does it matter?" Raphael responded. "What can you do, Azriel? Hide into the shadows?" Azriel gritted his teeth. He was still frozen, frozen in place. His eyes kept going towards the door behind them, the screeching consuming his thoughts._

 _"What are they doing to her? What's going on?" Azriel asked desperately, his voice cracking. Raphael's eyes was gleaming._

 _"Go and look," his brother said. Suddenly, Azriel's feet began to move and he walked towards the iron door. As he walked, the girl's wailing became clearer, more real._

 _"Help! Azriel! Help me!" He put his hands on the iron door, pushing it open and then jumped back in surprise._

 _When he opened it – he felt like he was going to puke. It was the cell he had been put in when he was a child, except ten times bigger. How did he get here? How did it get here? He cringed back, about to run out the door, run and hide from the madness, until he saw the fire blazing in front of him. His other half-brother, Petyr. He was shoving a girl's hands into a bin full of fire. She was screaming._

 _"Help!" She roared, "Help! Azriel, help!" And then she turned around, looking at him with tears streaming down her face. He exhaled._

 _Elain._

 _He tried running towards her but he couldn't get his legs to work. He was solid – frozen, unable to move once again. Petyr was laughing and behind him, he could hear Raphael laughing as well. He wasn't the man his friend's believed he was – he was a coward. He couldn't even fight his own half-brothers. He couldn't even save Elain._

 _"Azriel, why won't you help me?" She turned around, and he saw her hand full of scars already. "Don't you care about me? Why are you…are you…" Tears were streaming down his own face now. Her face filled with pure anger, disgust as she looked at him. And the next thing she said felt like a million bricks had fallen on him._

 _"Such a monster?"_

He woke up with a jolt. He was wet – a pellet of sweat dripping off his brow. As he leaned up into his bed, revealing a body-length crease of sweat under him, he took a deep breath. Though his breath was even, he could feel the fire in his veins. The anger whirled in his stomach and at the edge of his fingertips there was an urgency. An _itching_. Slowly, he looked down at his shaking hands and letting his eyes fall across the red blots that were etched against his skin. And while he knew the incident was only a dream – just a nightmare, he leapt to his feet and swiftly put on his pants. He went towards the door, opening it silently. He first put his head out, analyzing the surroundings.

There was a faint light seeping under the door, small but evident. Quietly, he creeped down the hallway. While normally he would have melted into the shadows and would have gotten there far quicker, he had done this a million times before and knew that he would not get caught. But still, when he reached the door he paused. Even from outside the door, he could hear her breaths. Her sweet, rhythmic breaths. Inhaling, he slowly twisted the doorknob.

And she was there. He didn't let out his breath until he took every part of her in – her loose knot that was spilling over her forehead, the pink cotton gown that made her look like a porcelain doll. Her skin – white and without any scars, aside from the brown birthmark under her chin, looked like moon light. Next to her bed, there were books scattered across the floor, all of them open on a random page. He dissected every bit of the room from where he stood – from each shadow that loomed above her to the flickering light that was on the desk next to the door. She was safe, she was okay. At least, for now. A part of him knew it was bad that he did this, for him to walk into her room once, maybe twice, a night. But what was he supposed to do? The nightmares were so vivid, so real. If something were to happen to her, even in the middle of the night, he would never be able to forgive himself. Not now, not ever. Because a beast inside him, an enraged beast that his adoptive brothers chose not to acknowledge, loomed when darkness neared. He could keep the beast contained for weeks, sometimes months, at a time, but that did not erase the fact that it was still there. That the beast was waiting, waiting for something to happen so that it could consume him. And Elain would be that reason. Elain would always be that reason.

Before letting himself out, he blew out the burning candle on her desk and quietly shut the door before he tested his luck any longer. He finally let out the breath inside him, exhaling deeply. He only had a few hours to sleep before he had to wake again due to Rhys's orders. It had been three weeks since the battle officially ended and majority of the group calmed down but Azriel knew that nothing, nothing in this world, would ever cause Rhys to relax. A part of him believed that it was possibly Amarantha and Hybern who had done that – as soon as he was released from her grasp, another war took him by surprise, leaving Rhys to never feel safe. So Azriel did his bidding so that nobody else would have to. He would spy and wait and harass every living being before he let his friend's paranoia consume him. He did not want Rhys turning into him. He did not want-

"What are you doing?" In one swift movement, Azriel turned around. Mor was leaning outside her door, rubbing her eyes with a yawn. Her blonde hair was twisted and tangled up and her thin nightgown was slipping down her chest.

Azriel only had to blink once before he replied, "I was sweeping the grounds." He turned back on his heel but Mor – sweet Mor – knew better.

"Even I know you aren't _that_ obsessive. We have guards, guards that you trained, to do that," Mor scolded. "What are you really doing, Az?" And then, just like that, he was gridlocked. He turned around once more, just to hold her gaze. It was near impossible to tongue-tie Azriel but, just rarely, Mor was able to do it.

"What are _you_ doing up?" He asked after a beat, with the same exact tone. "Aren't you supposed to be asleep?" Mor's face twitched. She wasn't used to that tone from him, not at all. She let out a low growl underneath her breath.

"I would be if somebody hadn't woken me up," Mor snarled back. "Cauldron, Az, what time is it? Three, four in the morning?" He let out a breath.

"I'm sorry for waking you," He managed to say, though he wasn't sure if he meant it, "Just go back to bed, Mor." He started walking but she snagged his arm. This time, he didn't turn around.

"You have nightmares too, don't you?" She said, her voice breaking. "Where do you go in the middle of the night, Az? I've heard you do it every single night this week." At first he was silent. But when he replied, he didn't bother to hide the shakiness in his voice. He didn't want to hide anymore – he didn't want to keep it inside himself.

"It's my job to make sure they're okay," He said quietly. And when he looked behind his shoulder, falling deeply into her brown eyes, he saw something flicker. She opened her mouth in confusion. Because who would he feel like he needed to protect? Though Nesta would never admit it, everybody knew that Cassian snuck into her room in the late hours of the night and Rhys always slept with Feyre. And then she looked down the opposite side of the hallway, her eyes falling to the only door that he could have gone into. _Elain's_.

No flash of surprise, no look of disappointment or pain or sadness. Instead, she just said, "Oh." Yeah, he thought. _Oh_.

(three dashes here)

Usually I try to make the first chapter longer but before I begin the plot, I want to see who is interested in this style of POV I have for Azriel. If you like it, please review


	2. Chapter 2

When Azriel stepped down the stairs the next morning, he could tell, nearly _smell_ , something utterly wrong. He walked down the stairs quietly, taking in the chaos that filled the kitchen area. On the stove, there were two plates of pancakes. Each stack had to hold at least ten. Cassian was leaning over it, grabbing two at a time with his fingers and shoving it into his mouth. Nesta, beside him, was snarling about something as her nose scrunched up. But Azriel could tell that she wasn't actually mad, saying as her pupils got larger in glee every time he looked at her. Of course, she would never admit that. Rhys and Feyre were a few feet away, sharing a plate of fruit as they mumbled to each other. Amren was looking through the pantry angrily. She would occasionally pick something up but then, just as fast, throw it into the trash. Mor was seated at one of the stools, pouring a sugary syrup on her individual plate of pancakes. Elain was seated at a wooden rocking chair in front of the fire with a mug of tea in her hands, listening to Lucien ramble nervously from the seat across from her. Her face was utterly still, like a porcelain doll, until she broke into a tiny smile that made her cheeks cause wrinkles around her eyes.

"How was your night, Azriel?" A voice said, but not Elain's. His eyes turned to Mor. She was smiling at him, bright but subtle. Yet he saw the look in her eyes that didn't quite reflect her smile. There were bags underneath her eyes just like his and the twinkle in her eyes – it was worry. Clearly, the memory of the night before was still on her mind.

Like a mouse, he walked down the stairs and didn't reply until he was on the landing.

"It was fine," he replied, showing a small smile. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Elain swing her head to look at him. Lucien turned his head as well, pausing from his chatter for just a moment, but when she looked turned her eyes back to Lucien, he continued to ramble.

"Fine?" Mor continued, pestering now. "You seem tired. Do you want to go out in the sun a bit? Possibly go for a run?" Azriel continued walking towards her and didn't stop until he was at arm's length.

"Don't worry about me, Mor," Azriel said, dryer now. "We have bigger issues." He noticed how, for just a moment, Cassian turned his head. Mor's eyes were cold when they nailed on him.

"I don't care," she said, "I want to make sure you're okay. Please, would you-"

"Azriel," Rhys interrupted, not without giving Feyre one last smile. Azriel's eyes flickered towards him, his eyebrows raised. "I don't want you going anywhere today. Don't worry about it. Mor is right – you need some rest." Mor immediately smirked. Azriel's nose, on the other hand, flared.

"Why?" He asked sharply. "You needed me to check up on the-" Rhys waved his hand dismissively.

"Don't worry about it," Rhys said simply but Azriel held his attention. Rhys sighed in response and he walked closer to Azriel. Though he leaned towards him in attempt to quieter, there wasn't a person in that room that couldn't hear them.

"I got a message from Devlon. He needs me to come over to the Illyarian and I want an extra person here in Velaris," Rhys said. Cassian took a step towards them as well.

"Devlon needs you?" Cassian chortled. "That's probably the best thing I've heard in the last century. I would love to hear that come out of his mouth. _Needing us_. Too bad I have better things to do." Cassian was chuckling underneath his breath and Nesta was casually rolling her eyes. But when Azriel looked at Feyre, a shadow flashed across her face. Rhys's face was bright, happy, but there was also an empty shadow that glistened in his eyes. Not cold, not angry. Empty. They have had weeks pass since the war ended and while they all had a stable schedule, he could tell Rhys was on a thread as well. Was he having nightmares? Was there something he didn't want them to know?

"You have probably fifteen meetings today. It's just Devlon. He'll get over it," Azriel replied. Rhys shrugged uselessly.

"The meetings can wait. I-" And then the words came out of Azriel's mouth before he could stop them.

"I'll go," Azriel heard himself say, though every nerve in his body was telling him otherwise. Even the shadows around him were starting to swarm across his body. "I haven't gone since the war and-" He looked at the rest of them. They all looked bothered by his declaration, to say the least. "My spies have been awfully silent. I should probably check up on them." Cassian took a step forward in objection, but Nesta took hold of his shoulder to stop him. Clearly, as Nesta and Azriel exchanged looks, she understood what he was doing. How she knew that, one day he would know.

"No," Mor said, first at him and then to the people around him. " _No_ , you hate that place. Just take a break, Az." But Rhys's eyes were looking at him hard. He saw past his lie, everybody did, but there was something up. Something Azriel didn't know about. It was almost as if…Rhys wanted him to go. _No_ , a voice inside him said, _Rhys wouldn't blatantly send him to the war camps without being straightforward about it_. But still…

"Fine," Rhys said easily. "Go get packed. Devlon wants you there as soon as possible." Azriel turned to the stairs again, about to walk up, but then Rhys interrupted him. "And I don't want you staying there for more than a few days, Azriel. Just go there and come back. Whatever Devlon needs you- _wants you_ , to do, just tell him to shove it." And as Azriel walked up the steps once again, feeling numb, he couldn't help but think of the croak in Rhys's throat. Like it hurt him just as much to send him there as it was for Azriel to agree to go.

(three dashes here)

After Azriel repacked his things for the cold weather, he walked down the stairs hastily. But as he walked down the stairs, he heard a quarrel.

"Nesta, it's my right," Elain said, her voice like chimes. "Plus…" But then Elain saw him hovering over the stairs. It took only a few seconds for others to follow her gaze. Most of them seemed shocked – not by Azriel's arrival, but from whatever Elain was declaring.

"Where are you going?" Azriel asked Elain, his eyes falling upon Nesta's glare. She was furious – utterly furious, as she crossed her arms tightly and paced around Elain with a growl. Elain merely smiled at him.

"She wants to go with _you_ ," Nesta said coldly. One of Azriel's eyebrows rose.

"To the Illyarian war camps?" He asked Elain. Elain smiled at him brightly.

"Last time I wasn't about to go because I…" And then she stopped, remembering her mental breakdown, "I just want to go." Lucien, who had been abnormally quiet as he sat next to her, put a hand on her shoulder.

"There's no sun there, Elain," Lucien said softly. "Plus, it's no place for a lady." Feyre snorted at this, shaking her head at Lucien's ridiculous comment. Mor rolled her eyes dramatically. And Azriel's eyes turned dark.

"Just because you can't handle those Illyarian bastards, it doesn't mean Elain can't, Lucien," Rhys said, smirking. Lucien's shoulders scrunched down, an angry look plastered on his face.

"I agree with Lucien," Nesta said, causing Cassian to cough, "Elain, it's awful up there. What will you even do? Talk to war lords? It smells." Elain's sparkling eyes looked over at Nesta, disregarding her tone entirely.

"Everybody has been up there but me," Elain said, her eyes on Azriel again. "I want to go. I want to see it. Please." Azriel straightened. He noticed that at her feet there was already a pack next to her, presumably full of warm clothes. She looked ready – excited even. Though, along with the rest of them, he didn't understand why someone would want to go at all. Nobody tried glorifying it when they told her where they went – and Nesta was right, it did smell.

"I'll take you," Azriel replied evenly. Elain jumped to her feet joyfully, picking up her thick pack. Her cheeks were red with glee and Azriel tried to ignore the fact that there wasn't a single shadow on his face. With a grunt, she threw it over her shoulder, nearly hitting Nesta. She began walking towards him but then, once again, Lucien caught her shoulder. Immediately, Azriel's eyes darkened.

"Wait," Lucien said, struggling to hold in a growl. "If you're going, Elain, then I'm going too." Cassian outright laughed at this.

"And what are _you_ going to do there?" Cassian asked, snorting. Lucien glowered at him.

"Keep Elain safe," he replied. Elain looked over her shoulder at him, her smile dropping. Though nobody noticed, Azriel's fists turned to tight balls.

"I would never take Elain anywhere that she wasn't safe," Azriel said dryly. "She'll be perfectly fine." But Lucien wouldn't have it. He took a step towards Azriel – not lethal, as Lucien knew that if a fight were to break out that he would not win, but only to assert his decision.

"It would be my honor," Lucien growled.

(three dashes here)

It was to Azriel's happiness that Lucien was the first to cuss about the cold after winnowing to the Illyarian camps. It took less than a second, before any of them could even take their first step that Lucien made it evident that he hated it. He swore as he nearly face-planted into the heaps of snow and rubbed his arms thoroughly. Azriel looked down at Elain, who was unknowingly huddled into him. She was shivering but her eyes…they were glistening in wonder at their surroundings. She didn't seem to regret it at all.

"Too cold?" Azriel asked. She shook her head, a rosiness caused by the cold now covering her cheeks. "Too smelly?" At this, she gave out a small laugh, causing Azriel to reflect a small chuckle as well.

Lucien glanced at her hovering towards him, and Azriel could nearly feel his discomfort. Not anger, not envy, just discomfort.

"Well, what now, Azriel?" Lucien said, clearly struggling to keep the anger from his voice as he rubbed his hands together. "Feel free to lead the-"

"Shadowsinger," A thick voice growled. Within less than a second Azriel was turned around with his knife, truth-teller, already whipped out. Elain had been automatically shoved behind him but when Azriel made eyes with the man opposite of him, an eternal wave of relief flooded him. Though, his tight posture did not change and his knife was still tucked in his hand.

"Devlon," Azriel greeted tightly. Devlon looked over Azriel's shoulder, growling.

"What is she doing here? I thought I was clear about her…kind," Devlon sneered.

"It's her right!" Lucien interjected but Devlon didn't give him a single glance.

"Because she wants to," Azriel said shortly. Devlon gave him a hard look for a moment, as if challenging him, but then he grunted. Clearly, he had bigger things on his mind.

"Took you long enough," Devlon said, his thick arms clenching at his sides. "I sent your _High Lord_ a message days ago-"

"About me?" Azriel said, his eyes hardening. Suddenly, his heart start beating rapidly. There has never been a single time, not even when he lived here, that Devlon called for him. Devlon often refused to even recognize his existence. Devlon, stumbled by Azriel's tone, snarled.

"Did you not read the letter at all?" Devlon asked, his voice rising. Azriel could feel the shadows swirl around him, as if cloaking him. He stepped towards Devlon. To his delight, a shadow of fear flickered in Devlon's eyes.

"I am here in front of you right now, Devlon. Get to the point," Azriel growled, "Or else I'm going home." Devlon's eyes were fuming but then a cold, cruel smile slithered onto his face.

"Follow me," Devlon said, turning away from them and strutting towards a tent. Quickly, Azriel gave a side glance behind them, beckoning a hesitant Elain, and inevitably Lucien, to follow him. Azriel kept close to Devlon, looking around them at all times in order to make sure nobody was planning to attack him. Though it seemed paranoid, he did not trust the Illyarian camps. It was far too easy to put a spy in the war camps and extremely easy to manipulate a young warrior to change sides. Devlon did not seem surprised in the littlest that Azriel had decided to arrive, thus causing a second uneasiness.

When they made it to the tent, Devlon turned towards him one last time before entering it. Behind them, Azriel saw a burning light flickering. It was quiet, though he knew there were others inside.

"Listen to me, Shadowsinger," Devlon snarled, and Azriel had to fight to not roll his eyes, "I want him out of here." And before Azriel could ask who, or to demand Devlon to never speak to him with such a tone, Devlon ripped open the curtain and revealed who he was talking about.

He was tall. Far taller than the average man. If a stranger saw him, they may even think he was an Illyarian himself, as he had muscle on his arms and he was incredibly lean for somebody who had blindly walked into an Illyarian camp. His hair, a brown far lighter than Azriel's, gleamed blonde when the fire flickered off it and his eyes – they were green. Greener than Azriel had even seen. His smile, small and thin, reflected back at him.

"Azriel, where are you going?" Azriel was walking towards him, one small step at a time. The man looked so innocent, so trustworthy. He was wearing wealthy clothes – a tan tunic with jet black pants. His shoes – if sold, they could feed a village.

"Azriel!" Azriel looked down at the man's legs – he was leaning against a pole holding up the tent, with a walking stick at his side. Still, he looked too healthy. He shouldn't even be able to hold himself on a walking stick.

"Azriel, come here!" And then an anger blazed in Azriel's eyes – so fierce that he couldnm't control it. He felt like anger, the monster, begin to sleep outside of his grip. Quickly, Azriel looked back at Elain. It looked like she had tried reaching towards him but Lucien had grabbed her back by the shoulders, his eyes full of worry as well. Azriel took one last look at the man. Sometime, within the last minute, his smile had dropped.

"Raphael," Azriel whispered, and then he lunged.

 **Hi everyone! Thanks for the enormous amount of comments. I felt like this was a bit rough and also a bit dry, but if you like it, please leave a comment!**


End file.
